The Angels
by Xelblade
Summary: A group of dark knights are traveling around, killing caravaners and taking their things. People all call them the dark angels. Who are these mysterious people?


Disclaimer: Ha, you probably thought that I was going to say something about how I didn't own Crystal Chronicles. Well, you're **right**! I completely **do not **own Square Whatever-the-heck-they're-calling-themselves. I don't want to sound like other authors, so I'll say that I **don't **want to own Square, because I'd completely mess everything up. Anyway, enjoy!

It was nighttime, and everything was still. A single shadow flitted towards the forest, disappearing into the night…

"What's for breakfast?" asked Roven. Roven was a young Clavat, 14 years old. His clothes were simple; a gray jacket and dark pants. He wore a red headband, and had fingerless brown gloves on. His eyes were blue, even though his parents' eyes were both brown.

"What do we always have for breakfast," replied Gorun, his friend. Gorun was a poor boy, a Selkie, but he befriended Roven many years ago. His parents had died when he was only 7 years old of a strange sickness, and later, he heard people call it "miasma." "What's miasma?" he would ask, and the only replies he received were soft sobs from his caretakers. Roven's family then took him in, and raised him. Gorun also wore simple clothes. His shirt was white, and his pants were blue. He was taller than most his age, and also stronger.

"Good point," Roven said. His mother put down their plates, which only held a few meager pieces of bread. The money from the town had mostly been used up on sending out the caravans each year. Roven's family was one of the lucky ones, who still had food. The caravaners, however, had very rich families, and they lived in luxury. Roven had often wondered why that was, and the other villagers responded by telling him that they were saving the village by collecting myrrh. "By using up the village's money, aren't they just destroying us?" he asked them, and none of them knew what to say. "Poor child, he doesn't understand." He often wished he could change how the town worked.

As they ate their breakfast, they heard large hooves approach the towns, and also the creaking of wooden wheels.

"They're back!" some villagers cried. The caravan had been long overdue, for it was almost two months after their normal arrival time. When they saw the caravan, they were heartbroken. The wheels were chipped, but surprisingly still turned. The animals lugging the caravan were hurt and bleeding. The cover of the vehicle was cut and had burn marks all over it. Worst of all, however, there was no one inside.

The mayor called a meeting, and they came to a decision. They would have to build another caravan, but since there were no able-bodied people in the village, they would be sending Roven and Gorun. They were the only ones that knew how to use weapons anyhow, since they had been training for the time when they could finally join the caravan. "They're so young," people murmured, as the two walked by. "Goodbye Rover, said some of the village kids, and they laughed. Roven hated his nickname, and often got angry and resorted to violence. One kid ended up with a bloodied nose and a broken leg, getting him a visit to the town psychiatrist.

Roven was angry, but kept on walking. He wouldn't have to see them for a long, long time.

As the caravan started trundling on, another group of caravaners passed them.

"Hail, caravaners," they said, although surprised at their young age. "Need some help? Here, take these, we don't need them as much as you do." Roven was happy, and feeling lucky. They received some money and a phoenix down each. As the other caravaners rolled on, they noticed something else in the pile. "What's that?" Gorun asked. He was pointing at a bracelet with runes of gold decorating the shining trinket. "I don't know, but it has a strange aura," Roven said. He had a thing for detecting magic that no one could understand, just another one of the many reasons he was sent on this trip. "Let's not use it until we know what it does," Roven said, and dropped it into his pack. The caravan was headed toward a path long unused, and they knew it contained a myrrh tree. When the reached the path, they found out why no one traveled it anymore. They saw many goblins and other creatures inhabiting the area. They were ready though.

As they passed the first group of goblins, they turned around. They rushed towards them, and Roven readied his weapons. They were fine swords, made of polished steel. They were two of Roven's few treasures, as they were both made by his father. Gorun wielded his double saber, and they charged towards the goblins. Roven slashed the first goblin in the stomach, and Gorun impaled the second. As the next two goblins arrived, Gorun whipped back his saber to stab the third who was trying to attack Roven.

Roven felt overwhelmed; he'd never been in a real fight, but he fought his hardest. A goblin jumped at him, swinging his sword wildly. It slashed Roven's arm, and he dropped one of his swords. Using the hilt of his other sword, he knocked the goblin in his skull, and heard a distinct cracking noise. He also hefted his knife, flinging it into the eye of a mage goblin, who fell over dead.

"Not bad for your first fight," Gorun said, as he wiped the saber clean on the grass. "It's bloodier than I thought it would be." Roven's shirt was stained with blood, and his left sleeve was torn where the sword had cut him. "We should get that bandaged," Gorun said. He helped him towards a nearby tree and propped him up against it. "I'll go get some herbs and water, and I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." As he disappeared into the forest, Roven heard a twig snap behind him. He slowly looked behind the tree, and as he did, a rock hit him in the back of the head, and he knew no more.

Gorun walked towards the stream, and wet a piece of cloth. He added some yellow moss and mud onto the make-shift bandage, and headed back. As he reached the tree, he saw some footprints on the ground, and he knew something was wrong. When he reached their camp, he found it empty. He groaned, and sat down. "What should I do," he thought. Then, someone hit him with something hard and he fell down, not quite unconscious. He saw a man dressed all in black walk towards him, sheathing a sword. "Flat of the blade," he thought, and he too was captured.

"Where am I?" Roven asked aloud. "Looks like the other one woke up," said their captors. "Hey Roven, doin' good?" Gorun said sarcastically. "Oh shut up." Their captors had tied them up. They weren't going to get anywhere. Roven's pocket which contained his money pouch also felt considerably lighter. Their captors walked out of the tent, grumbling about food. Their packs and weapons were on the other side of the tent, and they couldn't even come close to reaching them. Roven twisted his hand slowly in one direction, tightening the cords that bound him, and suddenly twisted the cord the other way and pulled. The force nearly dislocated his hand, but his hand had escaped the bonds. He untied his other hand and then his feet. "What about me?" Gorun asked. "This would be easier with my knife," Roven replied. He sliced Gorun's bonds, and they gathered their belongings. They waited in the corner, closest the entrance. As the kidnappers walked back in, they realized too late what had happened. Roven's swords had both missed the first man as he sprang back out of the tent. Gorun, however, managed to cut one of their legs. "Damnit, let's kill them Gale." "No, he said to bring them alive," the one named Gale said. He was the one dressed all in black. Roven and Gorun charged, and sheathed their weapons. They had charged into the undergrowth, since they knew that had no chance against their captors in a fight. One small cut doesn't mean much in a fight.

Once they thought they were safe, they leaned onto a large tree. "That was close," Roven said. "Stating the obvious again?" Gorun replied. Then they realized what tree they were leaning on. It was a large tree, which was glowing a light blue. "Wait a minute, if this is the myrrh tree, then the myrrh guardian must be – WHAM! A giant crab landed on the ground near them. "Ah, crap," Roven muttered. They unsheathed their weapons and charged forward. The crab was ready, and slammed its large head plate on the ground between them, raising a large cloud of dust. Roven furiously hacked at the hard shell, but to no avail. Gorun started casting a thunder spell, hoping that it would damage the flailing monster. The crab swung its pincer and Roven sprung back, and also caught onto it! The crab grew furious and waved his pincers in the air. Roven jumped onto the crab's head, and used his swords to stab into its eyes deeply. Before he could retrieve the swords, however, the crab threw him off and prepared to stab him to death. Gorun cast his thunder spell and zapped the crab. All it did however was annoy it. But it was enough. The crab's attention had been diverted. He fired a large electrical bolt at Gorun, and he was lightly singed as he sprang barely out of the blast. Roven had been charging an ice blast, since the lightning hadn't been very effective. He fired it, and the crab froze. Then, Roven and Gorun both stabbed their weapons into its unprotected underbelly, and the crab died.

"That was too close for comfort," Roven said. Gorun picked up their chalice, and placed it under the myrrh tree. The tree gave one drop, and it died. Myrrh trees have to wait a few years before they get revived again. No one knows why this is. As Roven and Gorun walked away, victorious and full of pumping adrenaline, no one noticed the shadow pouring some liquid by the base of the tree, and quickly disappearing into the cover of the forest.

"One drop from such a huge tree? Ridiculous," Roven said, as he peered at the liquid filling only one third of the chalice. "It's the myrrh that makes the world go 'round, don't take it for granted," Gorun replied. Then, they heard someone scream nearby. "Uh oh, looks like more trouble," Roven said, and they went off to investigate.


End file.
